


Moonspell

by brookibee4



Series: Ever After Series [1]
Category: The Ascendance Trilogy - Jennifer A. Nielsen
Genre: Based off of several fairytales so it's a little dark oop, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookibee4/pseuds/brookibee4
Summary: Captain Roden Harlowe has returned from battling monsters in the north. However, when a choice encounter changes his life forever, he must choose to go against his very nature.





	1. Hunting

Harvest season rushed through Libeth’s streets slightly early.

Many villagers left small gifts on their front porches- gifts for the Old Ones, that is. Bits of ribbons for the witches who’d brought rain to the fields; tiny bags of sugar for the even tinier Strangers who had kept the earth fertile; and old bits of glass and tin for the Brownies who’d kept the swamp cough away.

Roden Harlowe had forgotten about how the people of Libeth cared for the Old Ones. He’d been away for many years, using his second sight to hunt the dark creatures plaguing Half-Moon Pass in the north. 

He’d longed to return to Libeth ever since he’d been sent away.

Longed for his friends and family. 

Longed for his sweetheart.

Something was different about the swamp surrounding Libeth. 

The darkness in between the bowing trees was darker. The eyes of tiny creatures had grown sharper.

A new wickedness had taken over the muck and mire. 

The eerie sensation prickling through Roden’s veins subsided as soon as he crossed a line scratched into the dirt. 

The villagers were out in the fields when Roden and his horse neared Libeth. They waved and hollered as he strode past. The Harlowes helped with harvest every year, and one more hand would make all the difference.

It seemed like everyone from Libeth was tending to the harvest. Roden dismounted near the large pasture by his father’s manor, and turned his horse loose after he’d taken off the saddle. He made a mental note to return for the saddle and set it in a place where he’d be able to find it again. 

Red paste had been smeared over the doors to Libeth manor.

Wine and bread.

Two things guaranteed to keep away malicious Old Ones. 

Two things that had saved Roden’s life more times than he wanted to count.

“Master Harlowe!” Exclaimed a middle aged man. “You’ve come home!”

“Yes I have, Joss,” Roden grinned, and shook hands with the man before him. “Just in time to help with the harvest.”

“I’m sure your father would want you to rest,” Joss insisted, gesturing to the right wing of the house where Roden’s old room was.

“I can rest when the work is done.” 

“That’s what your father says too, and you best be careful with that thought. You don’t want to work yourself to death.”

“Don’t worry about me, my friend. I’ll see you this evening.”

A charm had been wrapped around Roden’s door handle. He grinned at the sight of it, and hung it from his neck. It was cool against his skin as he walked to the fields.

He was welcomed into the fields. Apparently, the villagers had begun a contest to see who could harvest the most in a single day. The winner received a sack of beans, which was passed on to the next days’ winner. Whoever ended up with the sack by harvest’s end would receive a prize. 

It became a game. Roden would cut through as many stalks as he could, and the younger ones helped gather what had been reaped. Several other men and women were doing the same. 

But by sunset, when the sacks had been stacked in wagons, it was evident that the other teams had thought of the same thing- reaping and letting the children pick up the stalks.

A ring of torches had been set up as to provide light as the night settled in. The carts were lined up, the sacks counted. Everyone who had worked that day stood waiting for who’d won the bean sack for the night.

Harlowe, who was presiding over the fieldwork, had yet to notice Roden. He gestured to the stacked carts in excitement.

“Friends!” Harlowe exclaimed, after climbing onto one of the carts. “We have much to be thankful for. The Old Ones have been kind to us, the harvest has been bountiful so far. And above all...”

Silence settled over the crowd.

A wide smile spread on Harlowe’s face, “My son has returned!”

Clapping thundered from the villagers, and Roden’s fellow teammates cheered loudest. He’d lead them to a near victory.

However, there was one person who cheered louder than the others. 

Maris Baillie burst through the crowd, but stopped right there and pressed her hands to her mouth in disbelief. Her laugh was music to Roden’s heart. He’d been starved without his closest friends for company. 

They ran to each other, nearly getting knocked down in the process. Roden lifted Maris by her waist, and wrapped his arms around her when he’d set her down again.

Everything about her was just as he remembered from months ago when he’d first left. 

Her blonde curls sprung out in every direction. Freckles were splattered all over her round cheeks. 

And she was happy to see him.

Pure joy began to seep through his very bones. 

“You came back!” Maris grinned, her face had the beginnings of a sunburn. 

Roden’s heart began to beat like a drum. Saints, he wanted to touch her with every ounce of his being.

“Of course I came back,” He said. Her thick accent made him smile. Roden cupped Maris’s face in his hands, “Couldn’t leave my dearest friend to take over my position in the household.”

“There were rumors, rumors that you’d been captured by a Mu- a creature of darkness.”

“And you believed them?”

“I prepared for the worst and hoped for the best, since you haven’t written to me since you left the border.”

“Can’t write very well when I’m riding a horse. By the devils, I can’t write very well when I’m sitting at a desk either.”

She lightly punched his shoulder, “Oh that’s not true. I happen to like the way you write.”

“Careful Mari, people might think you care about me.”

“But I do care about you!”

Roden pressed a hand to his heart, “I didn’t know you felt that way! Here comes my father, are you going to ask him for my hand in marriage?”

“Who’s getting married?” Harlowe asked, his hands clasped behind his back. 

Though Roden had said it as a joke, he didn’t doubt Maris’s determination to get what she wanted. But he did doubt who she wanted.

Did she know that she’d been one of the reasons why he’d strove to survive at Half Moon Pass?

Most likely not. After all, he’d only just returned to Libeth. Roden would tell her.

But what if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings? What if he- 

Once again, she was smiling at him. All sunshine and freckles and good feelings.

A fierce blush burned beneath Maris’s sunburn, “Nobody, sir, just teasing words between friends.”

“Maris wasn’t teasing,” Roden snickered. “She was bullying me.”

“Ah, Maris, what are we going to do with you and your bullying?”

“The only bully here is Old Jack for cheating today. I swear he filled sacks with weeds,” Maris chuckled. She’d stepped closer to Roden.

He recognized the movement, and together, they did their best to hide their entwined hands. 

“Maris worked well last week,” Harlowe said. “She and several others won the bean sack.”

“Didn’t I tell you she worked hard when I brought her?” Roden was grinning again.

Something about Maris made him grin nearly all the time.

And he had a good idea as to why. 

She often had filled his thoughts while he was at Half Moon Pass. They’d met the previous year at Drylliad Castle, instantly becoming close friends. Roden had learned of his assignment early that winter. Wargarous were vengeful. He had Maris moved to Libeth to keep her far from any danger.

Though from what it seemed, she had no trouble finding something to do. 

“Shall we talk over a meal? I don’t doubt that you’re starving,” Harlowe gestured to the manor. 

Roden opened his mouth to politely decline- there was an important question he had for Maris- but a piercing shriek rattled the stars. 

He stepped in front of Maris, wishing he had a sword at his hip. Shrieks only ever meant bad news. Especially shrieks that distraught. The crowd of villagers began jostling left and right, likely trying to make a space for someone to walk through. Many were shouting for Lord Harlowe. 

“By the saints!”

“Move out of the way!”

“The Old Ones have turned on us!”

The shouts were discordant and rough. A woman stumbled through the barely parted crowd, a little girl hung limply in her arms. Blood dripped down from the little girl’s fingers. Roden didn’t recognize either one. 

“Set her down,” Maris ordered, having stepped out from behind Roden. She was digging in her dress pockets. “Where did you find her?”

The woman had a difficult time replying in between her sobs, “She- she had gone out earlier today to play with- with her friends. And I- and I-”

“Weapons,” Harlowe said beneath his breath. “Get an iron sword from beneath the centermost wagon.”

Roden did as he was told. Many of the villagers had fled for their homes, but several others stood with their sickles and pitchforks. 

“We’ll have to move her,” Maris muttered. “Looks to me like a wound from an Old One.”

“What kind?” Roden asked. It was better to know before hand.

Old Ones were sly. 

Those that sought to do good were able to be seen by those who didn’t have the second sight. They could walk about by daylight and receive gifts for their help. Old Ones who were kind were loved. Invited. 

Welcomed.

But there were Old Ones who used the shadows to scare and kill. And those were the worst ones of all.

They could only be seen by those who had second sight. 

“Wargarou,” Maris whispered. “I think it was a Wargarou.”

The same type of beast Roden had hunted at Half Moon Pass. It was the same beast that had been hunting abandoned children. Hunting anything that moved or breathed.

“I’ve got an iron sword. I’ll take a torch, see if I can find it while it’s still in the area,” Roden said firmly. 

“You can’t go-”

“You know I can.”

Maris frowned, but dug around in her pocket. She brandished a purple flowered plant, “Wolfsbane. Keep it on you at all times. Come back to me in one piece.”

He couldn’t promise that. 

Roden pressed a kiss to the top of Maris’s head, grabbed a torch, and stalked off into the swamp with ten men following behind him. 

The swamp had gone still. 

Its hanging willow trees hung lifelessly on the wind. Even the murky waters had gone still. Not one man made a sound as they waded through an ankle deep pool of water. Not a single Old One jumped out to greet them.

When he’d been a child, Roden had ran through the swamp with no fear. He could remember the Strangers, mushrooms with bright red caps and little arms and legs, had run after him. Shaggy Brownies leading him to find treasures they’d made. 

Once, he’d found a trio of witches, stirring a great cauldron over blue fire. They’d merely winked at him before vanishing into the air.

There was no life in the swamp.

The other Old Ones had gone silent, the Bleeding Hearts, Wykes, and the slinking vines. 

It was a night to be caught by something malicious. Something like a Wargarou. Or the Dead Hand. 

Or even a Muse.

The light from Roden’s torch caused the shadows to grow to even greater heights. He kept a firm grip on his sword as the shadows twisted into shapes of trapped souls. Men who’d fallen prey to the Muses who used to run rampant in Libeth.

They were forever trapped in the shadows of the swamp. 

A twig snapped in the crisp night air.

A freezing breeze began to swirl around their ankles.

Roden held up his hand to stop his band of men. There were still ten.

Good. 

“Help me!” Howled a child’s voice.

“Save me sir!” Screeched another.

“That’s my son calling for help!” Bellowed one of the ten men.

“If you move, so help me Saints I will cut off your foot,” Roden growled. “It’s the Wargarou, trying to draw you away.”  
Wargarous.

Perhaps one of the worst Old One to exist, right next to the Muse. 

It came in two forms. One was the shape of a man, the other was a beast as large as a horse with teeth sharper than a sword. 

But its worst feature was the way it called to its prey.

A Wargarou could imitate the voice of any person- young or old- on a whim. 

“Father!” Cried another child’s voice.

The ten men began to shift uneasily. Roden inched forwards, his eyes peeled for any kind of Old One. His second sight couldn’t fail him. It never had before. 

At first, he didn’t notice it- the first torch going out. 

Roden knew something was wrong by the time the third torch went out. 

“There’s something more than a Wargarou,” sang a willowy voice. 

He held his ground, even though he could hear one of the men racing through the swamp. 

“Show yourself,” Roden took a step back. 

Two more men took to splashing through the swamp.

“How foolish of you to think you could see me so easily,” the voice sang.

“We aren’t afraid,” One of the men insisted. “You’re the coward, hiding from us.”

“But I’m not hiding. I’m right beside you.”

All Roden could do was spare a quick glance. 

True to the Old One’s word, she was standing beside the man who claimed he wasn’t afraid. Tall, and very beautiful. Or at least Roden assumed her to be beautiful. He didn’t dare glance again and risk exposing his second sight. 

“Show yourself, witch!” The man had balled his hands into fists.

“If you insist.”

Roden didn’t need to look to know what had happened. And he knew exactly what they were facing.

The only thing worse than a Wargarou was a Muse. 

Willowy and secretive, Muses had slowly become a rare sighting. Once their true identity was known, they couldn’t hide behind a pretty face. They couldn’t hide what they truly were: Dark creatures who fed on human souls for eternity. 

The trick to surviving was playing a game with them. Muses loved games. Roden had only ever heard legends of surviving a Muse attack, and he intended to return to Maris in one piece. 

Not as a damned soul. 

“My, my, aren’t you handsome?” The Muse asked. 

He gathered his courage. 

The last torch went out.

“I know what you are,” Roden announced, his feet turning to steel. 

“And I,” The Muse said. She materialized in front of Roden, “Know what you are.”

The Muse had black hair that fell in a perfectly straight curtain. Pieces of broken jewelry crowned her head. Her eyes were black and soulless. 

“You do now?” Roden continued. 

“Why yes, you are my evening meal. Hold still now.”

Roden remembered his promise to Maris. He would not become a damned soul. Doomed to an eternity of torment. The Muse had leaned in, her breath freezing against Roden’s neck. Her sharp fingers bit through his shirt. 

“I want to challenge you.”

The Muse drew back sharply, “Excuse me?”

“A game. A challenge. Whatever you want to call it,” Roden stood tal. Some of the remaining men had begun their escape. He was losing the Muse’s attention. “I’m sure I could beat you.”

“You? Beat me? Your courage is amusing. But I want to pick the-”

“No, no, I suggested the challenge. Therefore, I get to pick what we do.”

“I’ll eat you if you don’t let me pick.”

“How do I know you won’t cheat then, if you’re picking?” 

The Muse broke into a sharp toothed smile, “Because I have watched you since the day you first came to the swamp, Roden Harlowe. You would make a mighty prize. Here’s your challenge: You run and hide. I hunt you and kill you.”

“A game is meant to be entertaining to both those who are involved,” Roden argued. “Somewhere in this swamp, I’ve hidden a bracelet. Even I don’t know where it is. If I find it first, I get to leave the swamp. But if you find it first-”

“I get to eat you.”

A scent of death lingered around the Muse. Her sharp smile had widened until it split her face.

“So you accept?” Roden asked, but he didn’t offer his hand to shake on the deal. 

“Only-” the Muse paused, “if I can devour your friends that have stayed by your side.”

Roden didn’t dare look back.

He didn’t dare break eye contact with the Muse. 

“The deal is for me, and me alone.”

“That could be nice. But I’m ever so hungry.”

“If you don’t accept, I’ll have no choice but to fight you. Right now.”

The Muse grimaced in annoyance, “But fighting is an annoyance.”

“I’ll give you to the count of-” Roden began, he could hear another man trying to escape.

“Fine! Fine! Fine! I accept the challenge. When do we begin?”

Somebody was still splashing through the woods. Once the Muse accepted the challenge, Roden would have no way to keep her from devouring whoever was left in the swamp. He waited. The splashing became inaudible.

“We begin,” Roden forced himself to keep his hands steady

Going against a Muse in a challenge would be certain death.

“We begin now.”

With a cry of excitement, the Muse vanished. Screams rang through the swamp. One of the men hadn’t been able to escape the woods.

Roden’s heart leapt to his throat. 

There was no saving the man who’d been caught. He was too far away. Roden began to backtrack through the swamp, taking a different route to escape to safety. The bracelet he’d told the Muse to find was hiding snugly on Maris’s wrist- deep within the safe halls of Libeth manor.

He’d passed by the pond twice before he realized that he was going in circles. 

The swamp was changing around him. It shimmered and grew or shrank on a whim. The Muse was cheating while she finished her evening meal. 

In frustration, Roden began to trace his steps back. He’d have to take the first route out to escape. 

Shadows began to grow larger. Wispy hands grabbed at the shadow of his body, trying to drag Roden back with them. But he soldiered on.

So long as he didn’t run into any other malevolent Old Ones, he might be able to escape. 

“Roden!” Shrieked the Muse. Her voice changed, “Where are you?”

No way he’d answer that. 

He didn’t think of the man who’d likely joined the shadows. The Muse had devoured one of Libeth’s. That wasn’t something Roden could easily forgive.

But he couldn’t fight the Muse now.

Not with a burned out torch and a silver sword. 

“Where are you?” 

Once again, Roden didn’t answer. 

The lights of Libeth shone through the trees. He’d managed to make it back to safety. Roden glanced behind himself before he made a break for the trees.

However, the Muse reappeared before him, her eyes blazing.

“You’re breaking our agreement,” she snarled, her fingers growing into bone thin needle points. “That’s cheating.”

“But I found the bracelet,” Roden lied. He held the sword in front of him, ready to attack. 

“Then where is it?”

When he didn’t answer, the Muse once again broke into a sharp smile.

“That’s what I thought. I win the challenge.”

The Muse launched forwards, grabbing Roden by the shoulders. 

Trees and moss whizzed by. Roden dropped his sword as the Muse raced them both backwards. Her cruel laugh did nothing to soothe Roden’s nerves. 

After everything he’d done and seen, he was going to die. He was going to rot for eternity as a passing shadow, always trying to escape. The promise he made to Maris was in shambles. He’d lost the challenge. 

“Stand in the water,” the Muse ordered. She’d set Roden down in the pond, not really giving him a choice.

The water had reached his waist. Roden stared defiantly at the Muse. 

Her skin began to bubble. It stretched across her skeleton, and for a moment, Roden was glaring at a tall creature who looked more like a skeleton than anything else. But the Muse shrank again. Her black hair was done up and covered in a veil. She’d become much more... 

Human.

He dreaded whatever she had in store for him.

“It is painless, if you’re dead,” she said. “This will be one of the worst pains you’ve ever felt if you can survive it.”

Roden didn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. 

“Fine. Don’t speak to me. I could’ve killed you just now.”

Silence.

The Muse was glowering. She tapped a finger against Roden’s forehead.

Immediately, he found himself face to face with the night sky. The full moon continued on her slow path. 

The Muse began whispering, her words unintelligible.

No.

No, no, no. 

Roden instantly knew what was happening. Her began to thrash as hard as he could. No! This fate was far worse than living as a shadow. There had to be some way to get the Muse to change her mind. He’d do anything to avoid the fate he was going to meet.

But there was no divine intervention from the saints.

The Muse began chanting again, and with shocking strength, pushed Roden beneath the water. 

It was impossible not to cry out as the pain first began. 

It started in his hands. The tiny bones splintered themselves. Soon, it spread to his arms and shoulders. His ribs. His spine. The Muse was right, it was the worst pain he’d ever felt.

He wished he was dead. 

The worst part was the way the splintered bone began to latch together again. Pieces inched beneath his skin, burrowing through his tendons and muscles. They were melting back together. 

Unable to cope any longer, Roden sucked in a breath. Water soaked his lungs. 

And it all went black.

When Roden awoke, he was sure he’d found the afterlife. 

Mist tickled his nose. Frogs croaked and birds sang. Several Strangers were poking at his face with their tiny hands. The pond from the night before had grown still and peaceful, it seemed inviting. 

The pond from the night before.

Memories came flooding. Roden shook his head, trying to free himself of what he’d endured. His bones still ached from whatever the Muse had done to him. But he’d managed to survive. He’d survived despite all odds. 

Speaking of the Muse, she was nowhere to be found. 

That was likely for the best. Roden had no intention of seeing her again. And if he did, he’d do his best to ensure that she never terrorized Libeth again. 

Roden waited before he arose. There were puzzle pieces to be put together. After his encounter with the Muse, he wasn’t sure if there really was a Wargarou in the swamp. The Muse could have easily manipulated them all into thinking that there was. 

He wondered if she would’ve eaten them all if he hadn’t challenged her.

His head began to throb as he tried to stand up. The Strangers who’d sat near him all scrambled away in fear. 

Odd, considering that the Strangers loved getting attention.

Ignoring the dull throb pulsing through his body, Roden forced himself to stand. His balance was off. It had to be. He’d return to Libeth and sleep for several days. Then, he’d hunt down the Muse. Yes. He liked that plan.

The entire swamp fell silent again. 

Roden gritted his teeth and shuffled towards the pond. Was the Muse coming back? She’d made the swamp go silent before. 

He peered into the clear pond water with the intention of washing his face.

A Wargarou stared back at him.

Roden jumped back in surprise. Strange, he could’ve-

It hit him.

What the Muse had done.

She’d turned him into a Wargarou.


	2. Wicked, Wicked Wargarou

The myths surrounding Libeth flooded through Roden’s head as he stared at the wicked, wicked Wargarou face before him. 

A mane of sandy hair sprouted from his neck, and hung low over his chest and forearms. His snarling face was far too much like a- like a-

He wasn’t sure. Roden shut his eyes, thinking over every detail of Wargarous and other beasts he’d killed.

Wargarou: A horse-sized beast- neither wolf nor bear or lion, but all at once. Impervious to the common steel sword. Weakened by wolfsbane. Kept away by bread and wine. 

Bread and wine. Symbols of the saints.

The sticky paste on many of the doorways in Libeth. 

Roden struggled to stay calm. He’d never be able to return to his home. He’d forever wander the swamp as a Wargarou, slave to the Muse. Used to kill and hunt those she wanted dead. 

She would use him to hurt the people of Libeth.

That thought brought new dread to Roden.

The Strangers slowly began to return. Their red and white mushroom heads were burrowing through the dirt. Roden had never seen so many in one place. They began to jump up and down, trying to grab at his fur. 

He yelped, and tried to back away. 

Strangers were tiny. They stayed out of the way. Didn’t get involved. Burrowed beneath the earth, bringing a healthy harvest for those they loved. 

On some evenings, Roden could hear their tiny feet pitter pattering beneath the soil in their tunnels. But only he was aware of the tiny pitter pattering mushroom toes. Another effect of Second Sight. 

They began to climb onto each other. 

They leapt onto his fur.

Burrowed into his mane.

An animal instinct took over- one Roden wasn’t familiar with. He roared, trying to shake the Strangers from off of him. 

It did nothing to stop them. They continued their jumping and climbing. Roden lunged forwards, towards the water. He’d get them off that way. They’d swim back to shore. Leave him alone in his newfound misery. 

Something began to tug on his long, pointed ears, steering him farther and farther into the swampy lake. 

_Help._

The word was clear as day. Clear as one of his own thoughts. A harmony of tiny voices chiming in as one.

_Help you. Help us._

Swamp water soaked Roden’s mane. A lilypad had become stuck under his chin, as well as several bits of algae and moss. Reeds brushed his great big paws. He swam faster as the Stranger on his head tugged on his ears in an effort to steer. 

Old Ones lived in lakes too. And they usually weren’t the nice ones. 

_The Boggy Mum. We must find the Boggy Mum._

Boggy Mum? He’d heard that before. 

The Swamp Queen. She’d been the Swamp Queen once upon a time.

Or maybe the Boggy Mum was the former ruler of the swamp, since the Muse had come. The Muse hadn’t seemed like other Muses the night before. She’d been crazed and ready to eat. After her meal, the Muse probably was up to power.

However, Roden wasn’t in the mood to find out if that were true. 

He shook his fur once he got out of the lake. The Strangers miraculously stayed on. The one on his head tugged on his left ear. Roden turned, heading away from the sunny lake. 

_Your heart kept beating,_ whispered the Strangers.

There was no way for him to say something back. 

His thoughts wandered to the tales of the Old Ones he’d heard as a child. The good and the bad. His mother, Havanila, would tell him her favorites before he went to bed. Mathis, his brother, had been the one who’d told Roden all about the more terrifying Old Ones. 

Havanila’s favorite tale was of the Bleeding Hearts. Vines and vines of humming flowers that led lovers to their destinies. She’d claimed that it was the Bleeding Hearts that led her to her true love- Harlowe. 

Her loss rattled Libeth and the swamp.

They beckoned to everyone they came past, but so did every Old One who had no malicious intent. They’d beg for their stories to be told. Beg to hear stories. Call people down paths to their fates. 

Every Old One dreamed of getting their story told so they’d never be forgotten. 

Roden wondered if the malicious creatures wanted the same. 

The swamp trees began to huddle together, keeping most of the sunlight from touching the ground. More Strangers burst from the dirt and scrambled up Roden’s legs to join the others. Life was bursting from the swamp with each step he took.

Inklebergs- tiny black creatures with four legs and red eyes- sprang from bushes. They followed behind Roden. 

A familiar creaking joined the Inklebers. Brownies. 

Brownies, with their double jointed legs and shaggy moss fur. Who took pieces of glass and tin for gifts. Always making something new with their grubby little paws.

Roden peered behind him. A procession had formed. Glowing Wykes trailed far behind with slinking vines not far ahead. The Old Ones were following him. Following him to the Boggy Mum.

All that was missing was a witch or two. And the Dead Hand. 

Soft light began to beat through the curling, swirling swamp. The Bleeding Hearts hung everywhere. Tiny beams of light lingered in their petals.

“We’ve missed you so,” whispered a voice on the wind. “We’ve missed you Roden.”

“Will you tell us a story?” The Bleeding Hearts cried.

“Roden! Roden Harlowe!”

“You’ve come back to the swamp!”

_The flowers call your name._ The Strangers said. _The Boggy Mum nears._

If he could talk, Roden would’ve pointed out that the Boggy Mum had been gone for years. She’d left when the last of the swamp cough had ransacked Libeth and Avenia, taking Havanila with it. 

The swamp leaves began to gradually become blue. Fireflies shifted through the trees. Everything had grown together, making a large tunnel. There was no sun to be seen. 

_On, through the tunnel._

A pair of willow trees hung down, blocking the rest of the tunnel. If it weren’t for the Stranger tugging on his ears, Roden wouldn’t have gone forwards.

He ducked through the willow trees.

Bits of glass and broken jewelry hung from strings in the new tunnel, which opened up to a moss covered clearing. A stone well lay next to a crystal clear creek. Several trees had grown together to make a bed, guarded by hanging vines. 

Strangers scurried about, but rather than having heads of red and white, they were brown and tan. Bleeding Hearts tangled around themselves. 

The clearing was beautiful. 

Roden had never seen anything like it. 

_The Boggy Mum._

__

Mist rushed out of the well, churning into a large spout, until it vanished completely. 

__

In its place stood a woman. She was neither tall, nor short, but in between. She was neither fat, nor thin, but in between. Several large lily pads adorned her head. Long strands of moss curled in with her hair. Her dress was made of several different old fabrics.

__

Her skin looked to be made of tree bark.

__

A pair of green eyes stared back at him like two marbles. 

__

There was nothing but green. 

__

“I’d ask thee what tha name is,” The Boggy Mum said. “But a Wargarou has no gift a speech.”

__

She put her hands on her hips, and strode toward Roden. Several Strangers jumped down onto her outstretched hand. Inklebergs surrounded her feet. 

__

“Tha friends claim that tha is is a good courage,” She continued. “A good man. So take tha chance ta speak. I’ll decide tha fate if I see fit.”

__

The sound of rushing water stung Roden’s ears, he took a step back from the Boggy Mum, desperate to get away from the sound.

__

It vanished as soon as it came.

__

_I’m Captain Roden Harlowe,_ He began, his thoughts pouring through as if they were words. _My father-_

__

“Is Rulon Harlowe, I’m aware,” the Boggy Mum said.

__

_There is a Muse terrorizing the swamp. She harmed a child the night before. I first thought her to be a Wargarou._

__

“And now the only Wargarou is thaself, child.”

__

_I have to change back and stop the Muse._

__

“Swamp magic cannot be undone completely, only changed. I’ll bargain with thee if tha wishes to.”

__

_The last time I made a bargain, I was turned into a Wargarou. Please forgive my hesitation to do so again._

__

The Boggy Mum laughed, and scooped up an Inkleberg. She walked to the stream, her footsteps completely silent. A yawn stretched across her face, “Ah, but I’m bound ta my deals. Muses are slippery sorts. Always findin’ loopholes and what not. Maybe if tha likes what my prices are. Maybe we can come ta a agreement.”

__

Roden shifted on his great big paws, _I’m listening._

__

Every creature had frozen, waiting to listen. The clearing grew quiet before the Boggy Mum began to speak again. 

__

“I can change tha curse, give tha a chance to remain a man,” the Boggy Mum said. She began to pull on a rope beside the well. “Tha must be on the lake where tha was changed into a Wargarou by nightfall. By the light of the moon, and only the moon, can tha be changed back. If the moon be covered, no changin’ for Roden Harlowe!”

__

_What must I do to earn this?_

__

“Bring me a lock a the Muse’s hair. She be a fool to think she can rule my swamp.”

__

_Can I break the curse at all?_

__

“Let’s see how ye fare with what I’ve asked first, come closer boy.”

__

He did as he was told, but still kept a step away from the Boggy Mum. 

__

Without saying a word, she dropped the well bucket on the ground. The Boggy Mum reached up, and pulled a hair from Roden’s mane. She darted to and fro after that. 

__

Various items went into the well bucket: A splatter of mud, the hair the Boggy Mum had gotten, a leaf. 

__

The Boggy Mum held her hands over the odd mixture of water and muck. Her eyelids drooped. Water dripped from her fingertips. 

__

“By the power in my bones,” she said, “fill this mix with magic.”

__

Nothing happened. 

__

He shifted slightly, unsure of what was supposed to be happening. The Boggy Mum cursed several times, and tossed a few more items into the mixture. She clapped her hands, and spoke again.

__

But still, nothing happened.

__

“To the devils with it,” the Boggy Mum kicked the bucket. 

__

A flash of light shot straight up and out from the bucket. It shot through the trees, engulfing everything in its path until it was sucked back in. 

__

“Drink the potion, boy,” she ordered. 

__

Roden shut his eyes, and drank. 

__

Warmth spread through every bone in his body. It became cold, and faded as Roden stepped away from the bucket. 

__

“Tha best not forget tha promise. Tha mother did well in keeping hers, tha must do the same.”

__

_You knew my mother?_

__

“Havanila was one a us. T’was a shame she’s gone to the worms.”

__

That was a matter everyone could agree on. Havanila was a good woman, adored by humans and Old Ones alike. Roden would’ve done anything to have gotten her back.

__

To see her again.

__

_I will not forget my promise,_ Roden bowed his head. 

__

“Get out a my clearing,” The Boggy Mum said, shooing Roden away. “There are others who have a need a my help. Go on now, get. Terrorize the woods. An’ return to the lake, tha will only become a man again if the moonlight touches tha skin.”

__

Roden crouched to allow the Strangers to either get on, or get off. The creatures who’d marched along with him scurried onto his back. Wykes clung to his legs. The Boggy Mum laughed a farewell as Roden and his passengers left the clearing behind. 

__

A lock of hair from the Muse. 

__

The Boggy Mum would surely use it in some sort of spell. Roden wasn’t sure how spells worked, all he knew was that he could see Old Ones, and that was enough for him. Witchcraft was tempting, but not tempting enough to dabble in it.

__

Thoughts of remaining a Wargarou plagued Roden as he shuffled through the forest. 

__

Could he live his life as a monster?

__

He’d lived his life as a military leader. He’d hurt people physically and emotionally. Did that merit him as a monster?

__

Many members of court thought so.

__

One by one, the creatures who’d hitched a ride on Roden’s fur began to leave. The Wykes went first. They floated off into the trees. Sunset was beginning to settle in. He hadn’t thought he’d been with the Boggy Mum that long.

__

Time passed differently near the Old Ones.

__

The Strangers jumped off whenever they saw fit, burrowing into the ground.The Brownies vanished into the trees.

__

When Roden had reached the lake where he’d been changed into a Wargarou, he was alone, save for a single Stranger on the top of his head. Pinks and blues painted the sky.

__

_The Muse will be hunting tonight,_ The Stranger said. _You will have the chance to test the Boggy Mum’s spell._

__

Seeing the Muse again was not something Roden wanted to do.

__

If she’d been devoid of power when she’d lured him and the other men from Libeth into the swamp, she would be so much worse once she’d fed. 

__

He didn’t want to think of who she would kill. 

__

Roden sat patiently at the bank of the lake as he watched the sunset. His heart thudded in his ears. Nervousness made his nose twitch. 

__

The lake was calm- which made it hard to believe that the night before it had been used for dark magic. Trees dipped into the water. Water flowers sprouted up in the shallows of the water. 

__

It made for a peaceful resting place as Roden waited for the sun to vanish and the moon to arrive.

__

The Stranger slid down his back once the moon began to peek over the treeline. Roden stood, gathered his courage, and stepped into the lake.

__

Moonlight flooded the lake as the moon rose higher and higher. 

__

Doubt flooded Roden’s senses. What if the spell didn’t work? What if he lost himself? What if-?

__

The full moon’s pale reflection rippled where Roden stood.

__

Water began to swirl around him. Mist wafted into the air. The water spun faster and faster until it was slowly rising out of the lake. Roden clenched his eyes shut as the water spiraled above him and up to the stars.

__

Everything rained back down into the lake. 

__

Roden’s hands were drenched in water, as well as his clothes. It was going to be a cold-

__

His hands. 

__

He had hands.

__

A laugh rumbled in his chest. The spell had worked. The moonlight had turned him back into a man, back into who he was. He knelt and scooped up the lake water. In a rush of excitement, he flung the water into the sky.

__

_It worked! It-,_ The Stranger began, who had wandered into the lake. It began reaching up as the water rushed over its head.

__

“Careful,” Roden said with a grin and he picked up the tiny Stranger. “Hate to see my only friend drown.”

__

_Thank you, I appreciate it._

__

“What should we do next? I spent so much time worrying about what would happen if the spell failed that I forgot to think of what I could do once I was myself.”

__

_There’s many things in the swamp. Many many Old Ones too. Old Ones who are less treacherous than the Boggy Mum._

__

“Why’d you take me to the Boggy Mum then?”

__

_She has the power to stop the Muse. And her magic works the quickest._

__

Roden set the Stranger on his shoulder and waded back to the bank of the lake. The Stranger had been right about the Boggy Mum. It was probably right about the other Old Ones too.

__

The Old Ones could wait. 

__

There was a handful of people who needed to know that he was alright and alive. 

__

_Where are we going? The Stranger asked._

__

“To Libeth, my home,” Roden said as he sloshed through the swamp. “There are-”

__

_You can’t tell anybody you’ve become a Wargarou._

__

“They deserve to know that I’m alive.”

__

_You won’t be alive when they find out that you’re a-_

__

“Wargarou. Yes, I figured that.”

__

_For a moment it seemed like you forgot._

__

The Wykes had vanished from this part of the swamp. Once again all life had vanished. The shadows had begun their creeping again. They tugged at Roden’s shadow.

__

_We should stay, the Muse is returning._ The Stranger warned. It tucked beneath the sleeve of Roden’s tunic.

__

Roden froze in his steps, trying to think of an excuse he could give to the Muse.

__

He would not allow her to break his bones and shift him into a Wargarou again.

__

The Muse’s arrival was signaled by the shadows first. They bent away, trying to hide. An icy sensation crept up the back of Roden’s neck. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, staring right into his soul.

__

“You’ve changed,” The Muse purred in her song voice.

__

Roden said nothing. 

__

“I do not like it when people change what I’ve created.”

__

Nothing.

__

“Were you not happy with the power of being a Wargarou? I could’ve eaten you.”

__

“I’m glad you didn’t eat me,” Roden finally said.

__

“So he speaks,” she murmured. “Who changed you.”

__

_Don’t say the Boggy Mum,_ The Stranger whispered. 

__

“A passing witch.”

__

“And what was her name?”

__

Think Roden! Think! 

__

“Trenchwater Sal.”

__

“Then I shall find her and have her head.”

__

The Muse set her sharp fingers on Roden’s shoulders. He tried not to jerk away as she inhaled the air next to his neck. 

__

“Will you miss me?” The Muse asked.

__

Roden did his best not to cringe, “I’d miss the fires of the devils’ lair before I missed you.”

__

“Powerful words from a powerless person. I will hunt down this Trenchwater Sal and bring back her head as a gift for you.”

__

He didn’t say anything more.

__

“I will be back,” and with that, the Muse left in a rush of cold air.

__

_Who is Tenchwater Sal who will be facing the Muses wrath?_ Asked the stranger.

__

“A large tree halfway to a city called Drylliad,” Roden chuckled.

__


End file.
